


Present

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, KageHina - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, birthday gifts, happy birthday kageyama!!, hinata is...so stupid oh my god, sorry it's a little late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:26:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8979646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: Hinata is really, really good at remembering birthdays. He’s not so good at remembering much, honestly, but he knows all the birthdays of all the people that matter: his mum, Natsu, Izumi and Kouji, every character in his favourite tv show, Sugawara and Daichi, Nishinoya and Tanaka...it’s a very, impossibly long list. So it’s...odd, embarrassing, really, that at no point on that very, impossibly long list, does it remind him that Kageyama’s birthday is on the twenty second of December, or that the twenty second of December is today.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something for Kageyama's birthday but I was Blocked as hecky so today I just...pissed this out in like three hours my bad, but happy birthday kags!!

Hinata is really, _really_ good at remembering birthdays.

He’s not so good at remembering much, honestly, but he knows all the birthdays of all the people that matter: his mum, Natsu, Izumi and Kouji, every character in his favourite tv show, Sugawara and Daichi, Nishinoya and Tanaka...it’s a very, impossibly long list.

So it’s...odd, _embarrassing_ , really, that at no point on that very, impossibly long list, does it remind him that Kageyama’s birthday is on the twenty second of December, or that the twenty second of December is today.

* * *

It’s lunch by the time he remembers.

He maybe should have clocked on sooner, really, thinking back on it, because practice was full of back slaps and head pats and even a _hug_ from Kiyoko, all bestowed upon Kageyama liberally even though he hadn’t even done any particularly good tosses or serves to warrant it.

And then, if that weren’t enough, maybe the cards in his locker should have been. Hinata had watched them tumble out alongside his shoes, most addressed with neat, swirly writing, some big and some small, and one with a giant, heart-shaped sticker in one corner, and still Hinata didn’t work it out.

He didn’t, because it’s not _unusual_ for Kageyama’s locker to spit letters at him from time to time. Because Kageyama is weirdly, _unreasonably_ popular, especially with the girls.

Hinata doesn’t get why. Doesn’t get why at _all_.

But that doesn’t much matter. What matters is, even with the abundance of cards and letters and pretty pink envelopes, Hinata never once considered that today might be special in any way.

Until lunch time.

Until he’d reached the door to Kageyama’s classroom, bento box swinging from one hand, a plea for tosses itching on the end of his tongue, to find half the team ringing Kageyama’s desk like a halo, a bunch of pretty wrapped boxes extended in Kageyama’s direction.

It’s about then that it hits him. It hits him rudely and abruptly, and then his body is flushing, blood running right up from his toes to pump hot and heavy in his cheeks. He’s red, he can tell; pink from cheek to cheek and right over his nose, and he’s probably white as a sheet everywhere besides, because he can’t possibly have enough blood in his veins to colour him anywhere else.

Nobody has seen him. Noya and Tanaka are yelling, loud and boisterous, enough to push the remainder of Kageyama’s class a couple of feet away from the group, and the both of them are fighting over who's present he should open first. Sugawara and Daichi are smiling, all bright eyes and the fondest turn of lips, and even Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are there, bearing a gift box between them.

Even _Tsukishima_ remembered.

Hinata doubles back with his shoulders bunched up about his ears.

He feels _stupid_ , sure, because how stupid do you have to be to forget a _birthday_ , but on top of that, he feels... _bad_.

It’s a weird kind of bad, all heavy and winding, coiling and sitting like lead in his stomach. It’s the kind of bad that wraps his heart in his chest, knots it up until it aches.

He eats lunch alone.

There’s a biting kind of chill in the air when he steps out, and it nips at him as he sits on the bench, as he unwraps his lunch, as he picks half-heartedly at his food because his gut is too full of _bad_ to fit anything else. It is, in the least, dry outside, and though the cloud cover is thick and full and heavy, it hasn’t started snowing.

How could he be such an _idiot_. He forgot Kageyama’s birthday, forgot his teammates birthday, his setters birthday, his...his _friends_ birthday.

He goes over the list in his head. All those birthdays, all those most-important dates, family and friends and fictional characters and a few sports personalities he likes, and just like that there is an awful, terrible moment of realisation. It’s so sudden it winds him, knocks him dizzy, and he drops his _onigiri_ back into his box with numbing fingers.

All those birthdays, and Kageyama’s isn’t even up there.

It’s not just that he forgot about it.

He didn’t even _know_ about it.

Hinata curls in on himself, bento trapped between his lap and his chest, and he sucks his breaths in through his knees. He’s the _worst_ , fully the worst, because Kageyama must have told him at some point. He must have, because the rest of the team seemed to know, and there’s no way Kageyama would have told everybody else and _not_ told him.

A sharp wind blows down the back of his jacket. He’s cold, freezing, and he wiggles his toes into the crisp, frosty leaves, and thinks a little more about just how terrible he is.

He could go out and buy him a present. Pretend he’s left it at home, that he’ll bring it tomorrow, buy something tonight and wrap it up and Kageyama would never, ever have to know that he didn’t even know it was his birthday.

He _could_ do that, but...he doesn’t have all that much money, and he still hasn’t bought any christmas gifts for his family, and would he even have time? By the time practice is over, and extra practice with Kageyama is over, and he goes home for his money and catches a bus into town, it’ll be dark, and everywhere will be closed, and this is maybe the most awful situation he’s been in, _ever_.

He could _make_ something, maybe? Or steal something—no, that’s bad, he can’t do that—or...or maybe he could just ask him what he’d like, and buy it later. There’s nothing wrong with that, right? It’s not like Kageyama has an awful lot of interests besides volleyball anyways, and how is Hinata supposed to know what kind of gift he would want?

But then, everybody _else_ seems to know what kind of gift he would want.

Hinata mulls it over a little longer in the cold. He’s not hungry, not even a little bit, even for all the food his mother has packed for him, and he caps the lid over it and re-ties the bag, setting it down on the bench. The wind ruffles the loose ends of the knot and Hinata watches tens of little volleyballs wobble in the breeze.

Kageyama bought him that.

It was objectively the worst, most boring present he’s ever gotten for any birthday, ever, but...but he does like the volleyball pattern, and he _did_ need a new bag (because he couldn’t absolutely couldn’t keep using _Natsu’s_ , with it’s little pink cats in their little pink bows, because she kept complaining whenever it was missing), and he supposes it has come in awfully handy.

And, at least Kageyama remembered his birthday.

Hinata groans into his knees and fists his hands against his thighs.

He’ll just...he’ll ask someone else. Sugawara, maybe, or Daichi, somebody who will keep quiet about the fact that Hinata forgot, that he’s an _idiot_. He’ll ask them what he could get, and then he’ll just buy it, give it to him another day, hope Kageyama doesn’t notice that Hinata hasn’t given him anything just yet.

Somewhat resolute and incredibly, bone-chillingly cold, Hinata gathers up his bento and heads back to his class, feeling heavier than heavy and suckier than sucky can be.

* * *

The next couple of hours drag by. Hinata spends them doodling in the corner of his worksheet, noting down little, scribbly lists of things he could buy, or things he could make, or things he could _do_ that might just be good enough to qualify as a gift. There’s cake, obviously, but Hinata has never been all that good at baking and he’s not all that sure his mother would let him use the kitchen even if he asked really, _really_ nicely. Not after last time.

He could draw him a picture, maybe, but he’s not all that good at art either. And even if he was, he’s not even sure what he’d _draw_. A volleyball, probably, or a court, or some kneepads, some trainers...maybe a nice small dog, because Kageyama likes dogs, and maybe Hinata could just getting him an actual, real dog—

—but no, because as much as Kageyama likes dogs, dogs do not, they have learned, like him at all. And besides, Hinata doesn’t even know where he’d get a dog in the first place.

It seems like a lifetime before they finally, finally pack away, and Hinata dodges his way out of class duties to run to practice, because maybe, just maybe, Kageyama will still be stuck cleaning the board or emptying the bins, and Hinata might get a chance to talk to somebody before he gets there.

Fortunately, luck is on his side.

Sugawara is alone in the clubroom when Hinata jogs in, tugging his practice shirt down over his head and kicking his shoes off of his feet.

“Suga,” Hinata says, throws his bag to the bench and bows at the waist. “Please tell me what you got Kageyama for his birthday!”

For a long, long time, Suga doesn’t say anything. Hinata holds his bow even as his stomach starts to ache, as blood pools in his cheeks, as his thighs start to shake from holding stiff and still for so long. And then the softest palm brushes over his head, ruffling his hair, and Sugawara’s laugh tinkles on the air.

“You can stand up,” he says, voice trembling with whatever it is he’s finding so funny in this very un-funny situation. Hinata straightens, blinks the dizziness from his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Hinata shuffles the toes of his shoes together and scratches at the back of his neck. The clubroom is empty, he knows, but he still casts a wary glance from locker to locker and back to the door before he says, low and hissed in the quiet,

“I—I forgot about his birthday.”

If Sugawara is surprised, he doesn’t show it. Not even a little bit, which is...annoying, almost, because he _should_ be surprised, because up until now Hinata has never forgotten anyones birthday _ever_.

“I got him some new kneepads,” Suga says, and Hinata nods. That is a good present; good and practical, something Kageyama would want. Something Hinata cannot get him now. “He wore his old ones out, so I figured he could use another pair.”

“Oh,” Hinata says. He didn’t even know Kageyama had wrecked his last pair, and the _bad_ knotting his stomach winds tighter. That is...something he should have noticed, probably.

“Daichi got him a new pair of leggings,” Sugawara goes on, “for running in the Winter, and Yamaguchi, Tsukki and Yachi pooled for a pair of new trainers.”

Hinata crosses these things off one by one in his head. They are all good presents, very _Kageyama_ presents, things he will love, and although this is meant to be giving him ideas, all it is doing is making him feel ten _million_ times worse.

“Asahi bought him some gloves.”

Hinata half wants him to just...stop talking, now. But Sugawara is ticking things off on his fingers, and Hinata doesn’t want to interrupt.

“Nishinoya baked him brownies, which Daichi and I have since confiscated.” There’s a wry kind of smile on his face as he says this, though Hinata can’t quite work out _why_. He also can’t work out why they’d have taken the brownies in the first place. “And Tanaka...I don’t think Tanaka’s present should really be helping you too much.”

“ _Gaaaah_ ,” Hinata groans, sinking onto the bench and dropping his face into his hands. He still has no ideas, not one, nothing good at _all_ , and there are footsteps clanging up the stairs, loud voices trickling in through the open door. Sugawara sits down beside him and leans in, close enough to whisper.

“Do you want to know what I got my best friend for their sixteenth birthday?”

Hinata sort of wants to stop him, to tell him that Kageyama isn’t his _best friend_ , but a) he supposes, a little reluctantly, that maybe Kageyama _is_ his best friend, and b) he is desperate for any and all help he can get. He nods, and Sugawara smiles.

“A kiss.”

Hinata squawks and he flails, and the floor comes sailing up to meet him. Sugawara is grinning as he tucks his feet into his trainers, tugging out the heel and strapping up the laces.

“I’m not gonna—I can’t—Kageyama wouldn’t—he’d _kill_ me.”

Sugawara shrugs a shoulder and settles back. Outside the room, Hinata can hear yelling, laughing, Tanaka and Nishinoya cackling with Asahi’s worried moaning bringing up the rear. He shoots a glance at Sugawara as he unfastens his jacket and slips it down his arms.

“I’m just saying,” he says, “Kageyama’s never been given a kiss before, right? It’ll be special. Special enough for him to forget you didn’t get him anything else.”

Hinata opens his mouth to say more, but the room is suddenly alive with activity, with laughing and shouting, bursting with every ounce of energy Tanaka and Noya have to give out, and then everybody is there, everybody is changing—even Kageyama—and Hinata can’t well argue now.

All through practice, he thinks it over in his head.

Perhaps, he thinks, it wouldn’t be _so_ bad to kiss Kageyama. It might be nicer to have his first kiss with a cute girl, but, he supposes, Kageyama is _sort of_ cute, in his own weird, grumpy kind of way, and there are definitely _worse_ people he could kiss.

And the more he looks at him, the more he thinks about it, the more he realises that Kageyama’s mouth is not the worst mouth he’s ever seen. He’s got nice lips, a little pink and a little plump (and a lot of frowny as his toss sails way over Hinata’s head, high across the court, because Hinata was too busy looking and too busy thinking to even jump), and they’re kind of chapped, little cracks weaving over them like tiny rivers on a big pink map.

Every now and then, Kageyama’s tongue peeks out between them, and Hinata thinks it should maybe gross him out more than it does.

More, because it doesn’t gross him out at _all_.

It looks...kind of nice, actually, wets his lips so they shine, and Hinata casts furtive glances at him as he sips from his water bottle. He watches the way Kageyama’s whole head tips back when he drinks—the bottle is new, black and shiny and probably a very nice birthday present—and the way his lips cup around the mouthpiece, the way his throat bobs with every sip and swallow, and he thinks he’d...he’d maybe _like_ kissing Kageyama, just a little bit.

And it _is_ for his birthday.

Kageyama lowers his bottle and wipes at his mouth. There’s a drop of water escaping, dripping from the corner of his lips towards his chin, and Hinata follows it as it rolls, tracking a tiny little path on his skin before—

—before a wet, red tongue slips out to catch it, and something very _weird_ happens in Hinata’s stomach.

It drops—the bottom falls right out of it, spilling something thick and _hot_ out into his gut, and the warmth spreads lower, settles somewhere a little too far down for comfort, and some of it billows up, too, fills his chest and swells his lungs and Hinata sucks in the quickest, sharpest breath he’s ever taken, and chokes on his own drink.

He splutters, and coughs, and as quick as the heat had come it goes again. Kageyama looks over at him and scowls, paces the steps between them, and slaps a big, strong palm right between his shoulderblades. Hinata jolts forward on the bench.

“Idiot,” Kageyama grumbles, “what’s with you today?”

 _I forgot your birthday and also I think I really kind of want to kiss you a bit_ , is probably not the best of responses, and so instead Hinata shrugs, and stands, and stretches his arms up over his head.

“Nothing, stupid,” he says, dodges out of Kageyama’s reach as he grabs for his hair. “C’mon, toss to me.”

Kageyama’s scowl morphs into a smirk, a fiery one, and then he stands, bending to scoop up the nearest ball, and he points a long, dangerous finger in Hinata’s direction.

“Miss one,” he says, “and you’re buying us meat buns after practice.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Hinata says. “But if I get them all, _you’re_ buying us meat buns after practice. I want three.”

Kageyama slaps his palm to the ball with a sharp, ringing _thwack_.

“Fine.”

Spiking Kageyama’s tosses with the remainder of his money balancing precariously in the middle of a very thin, very wobbly tightrope is about as much incentive as Hinata needs to concentrate. He makes it through the rest of practice without missing a single set, and though Kageyama seems a little grumpy at the fact that he lost their bet, he’s not quite as angry as Hinata expected him to be.

And because it’s his birthday, Hinata changes his prize to one single meat bun, as compensation.

The walk to the store is full of pushing and shoving, of shared scowls and shouted words, and Hinata almost forgets about his birthday present.

Almost.

Kageyama is handing over his money at the counter—Ukai only makes him pay for Hinata’s meat bun, because the other is the most half-hearted birthday gift HInata has ever seen—when Hinata remembers that he still needs to give him his own.

“Here,” Kageyama grunts, shoving the bag at Hinata’s chest and nudging him towards the door. Hinata walks on a little dazedly. He’s...really not all that hungry, now that he thinks about it, but it’s not the big ball of bad take up all the space in his stomach anymore.

It’s something else entirely, something fuzzy and erratic, fluttering like wings and buzzing like bees, scribbling all over his insides until they hurt with it.

Outside, it is snowing.

And, in Hinata’s defense, it wasn’t _supposed_ to snow today.

It’s...maybe not the greatest excuse in the world, because it _is_ Winter, and even without the snow it’s still cold—bitterly, bitingly cold—and he maybe, probably should have been in the least prepared for a turn in the weather.

But as it stands he was not, and now it is snowing, big, heavy flakes drifting down from a canvas of puffy white clouds, and Hinata doesn’t even have a hat to keep his hair dry.

The awning above the shop door keeps him sheltered, at least, but the wind that blows still nips his skin, pinching it up into tiny little goosebumps even under the thick fabric of his jacket. He shivers, and stomps his feet.

Beside him, Kageyama takes a big bite out of his meatbun and digs his free hand into the pocket of his coat. He’s wrapped all toasty warm, a scarf tucked up under his chin, hat pulled low on his brows and a pair of neat, fuzz-lined gloves saving his fingers from the breeze. Hinata cups his own meatbun in both hands, steals the heat to warm his fingertips.

“I’m gonna _die_ ,” he wails, muffles himself with a bite of his bun. Kageyama grunts.

“Your own fault,” he says. “Should’ve brought more to wear than your jacket.”

HInata sticks out his tongue, and chews. The bun is all doughy in his mouth, too thick and too dry to swallow, and he struggles his way through the first mouthful with tongue and cheeks like sandpaper.

The rest, he balls up in the paper and shoves into his bag. Kageyama finishes his bun in a few big bites, crumples up the wrapper and slips it in his pocket. He yawns, and Hinata watches the stretch of his jaw, the way the skin pulls tight over the bone, and he watches the scrunch of his eyes, the pinch right at the top of his nose, and yeah, yeah, he’d really, _really_ like to kiss him now.

 _Stupid_ Sugawara and his big, dumb, stupid ideas.

“Let’s just go home,” Hinata says, and Kageyama nods. He hefts his school bag up on his shoulder and it is only then that Hinata realises there is a small _mountain_ of other bags at his feet. He reaches for them, lifts them all up in one hand, and shoves the other back into his pocket.

All of his presents from all of his teammates.

All except Hinata.

They walk in silence, after that, Kageyama with his presents from his _good_ friends in one hand, and Hinata pushing his bike with cold-numb fingers. His nose is red, he can tell; it stings where the wind bites at him, and his cheeks and chin ache, and every big gust of wind zips past the collar of his jacket and down his back.

He stops when they reach the turn-off.

Most days, Hinata will head right, up the mountain, and Kageyama will turn left, down the lane and into the nicest, sleepiest row of houses Hinata has ever seen.

Today, Kageyama turns left, and Hinata stays still.

“ _Bakageyama_ ,” he says. There’s a weird shrill to his tone, and a tremble, and Kageyama gives him a questioning look when he turns back to face him.

Hinata tightens his grip on his bike.

He can kiss him now, just one quick, little kiss, and then he can flee—he’ll be able to go quicker on his bike than Kageyama could run, even with the little coating of snow icing the road, and maybe by tomorrow Kageyama will feel less inclined to murder him.

Just one little kiss, for his birthday. He probably won’t even enjoy it, even if...even if he thinks he might, just a little bit.

Kageyama is still looking at him, waiting, and Hinata lets go of his bike. It falls with a clatter, back wheel ticking away where it sits suspended from the road, and Hinata takes the two big, endless steps between himself and Kageyama, and puffs a big lungful of air into his cheeks.

He puckers his lips.

Scrunches his eyes.

Stretches up on his toes.

But oh no, oh _god_ , oh no—even on the very tips of his shoes, craning his neck as far as it’ll go, he’s just...he’s not quite tall enough.

He can feel Kageyama’s breath blowing hard and fast over his nose, so he’s _close_ , he must be, but—he hops a little on his feet, straightens his knees as much as he can—but he’s just not quite there.

And a horrible, overwhelming sense of embarrassment boils over him.

He grabs at Kageyama scarf and tugs, half-hearted, winking one eye open to look up at him.

Kageyama’s eyes are wide. About as wide as eyes can go, Hinata thinks, before they’d just start popping out of his skull, and his mouth is open, cheeks a little hot and a little pink, and Hinata tugs on his scarf even harder to hide his shaking hands.

“Bend down a little,” he says, and Kageyama blinks at him.

“What the hell are you doing.”

Hinata drops back on his heels. There’s a burning kind of humiliation bubbling through him, crashing over him, and he knocks his forehead to Kageyama’s chest and tightens his grip on his scarf.

He’s an idiot. He is the biggest idiot _ever_ , probably, and Kageyama is...as soon as he lets go, Kageyama is going to kill him, like really, honestly kill him, with his own two hands. He is going to strangle him, or beat him, or maybe just throw him very far away very fast, push him into oncoming traffic—an endless list of possibilities, and he’d probably do all of them one after the other, if he could.

And he’s an even _bigger_ idiot, for being a little bit disappointed that he didn’t even get to actually kiss him first.

“Your birthday present,” he says, and it comes out all thick and shaky and _cracking_ and god, he’s embarrassed, and he’s _sad_. Weirdly, chokingly sad.

Kageyama swallows and he takes in a breath, a big one, and it’s all wobbly, too, vibrating through his chest and right against Hinata’s forehead.

“What…” he starts, swallows again, “what is it?”

Hinata rolls his forehead against Kageyama’s chest. His fingers are growing even more numb than they already were, clenched so hard into Kageyama’s scarf, but the rest of him is hot, so hot and so heavy he thinks he might just sink where he stands, melt down into the snow and disappear.

He sort of wishes he would.

But Kageyama hasn’t killed him yet, and there’s...there’s still time. Still a chance to give him his present and run.

He pulls back, just a little, but it’s enough to let a big swell of frigid air crash between them. He shivers, and stretches back up on his toes. The hand gripped in Kageyama’s scarf helps him balance, and he looks up, cheeks hotter than the _sun_ , probably, and tugs just a little.

“Bend down,” he says, and Kageyama, still wide-eyed and questioning and a little bit scared-looking, honestly, tips at the waist until they’re face to face.

And then Hinata kisses him.

He’s seen an awful lot of movies, and in the movies, when the couple kiss—when the guy gets the girl—there’s a big, booming crescendo, and there are sparks, fireworks, lights that blind and blaze but there is none of that, when he kisses Kageyama.

There isn’t, but there is a warmth, so pleasant it thaws him from the inside out.

Kageyama’s lips _are_ chapped, he was right, and they’re a little rough and dry, but the breath that bleeds between them is hot, and Hinata drinks it down with a tiny, dry swallow.

Hinata’s heart is beating a manic rhythm in his chest. He’s never felt anything like it, not even in the longest, most intense volleyball game he’s ever played. It’s pumping so hard Hinata thinks it might kick it’s way out, burst free of him, and he sort of wishes it _would_ because there definitely isn’t enough space in his chest for the way it is swelling. There isn’t enough room for his heart to get any bigger, any warmer.

He drops back onto his toes, and lets out a big, long breath.

And then he steps back, because _oh_ this is it, this is the moment he should be running. It’s critical, valuable time, because Kageyama is shocked, Hinata knows he is; his face is slack, mouth a little open, just enough that Hinata can see the smallest peak of pink behind his teeth, and his hands sit loose at his side, all his real, actual presents dropped into the snow alongside his school bag.

Hinata takes another step back, and Kageyama takes a big step forward.

His hand reaches out, and Hinata waits for it—for the death blow, whatever it might be.

Kageyama’s soft, fuzz-lined glove reaches over his cheek, curves against his jaw—snapping his neck is more original than Hinata had anticipated—and his other hand finds Hinata’s sleeve, fingers pinching at the cuff of his jacket. He pulls, and Hinata stumbles.

And this time, Kageyama kisses him.

He meets him with a tiny little _umph_ of surprise, and Kageyama gives the smallest, lowest, _sweetest_ moan Hinata has ever heard. The fingers at his sleeve let go, but the hand doesn’t disappear. It ghosts against his wrist, fingertips dancing, slow and wobbly and hesitant, tickling his skin and skimming down to his palm, to his fingers.

He threads them together, palm to palm, finger to finger, and the feeling of it all—of their hands knotted together, of Kageyama’s breath on his face, of Kageyama’s lips on his, of his _tongue_ poking out to touch him, to slip in his mouth—is so weirdly intense that it rips a whimper out of him.

Kageyama slides his hand from his cheek to his neck, back to his hair, and Hinata grips at the elbow of his jacket to keep himself steady.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing at all, really, but Kageyama’s tongue retreats back into the heat of his mouth and Hinata follows him, feels the heat of him on his own tongue, the softness and the wetness and the sharpest points of his teeth.

Kageyama gives another one of those soft, barely-there groans when Hinata licks at him, and he steps closer, presses them chest to chest, like he doesn’t want a single tiny molecule of air to sit between them, and Hinata lets him, because he is impossibly warm and it all feels impossibly good.

Kageyama pulls back first, this time, and when he does his breath pants harsh and ragged over Hinata’s face. He knocks his forehead forward, _hard_ , and the tip of his nose brushes against Hinata’s. He leans up into the tickle of it, and a weird, bubbly smile stretches over his lips.

“Happy birthday,” he says, and Kageyama squeezes his hand.

“How,” he says, swallows, and Hinata lets his eyes fall shut at the warm gust of air Kageyama breathes over him. “How did you—who told you I’d want that?”

 _Oh_. Oh, oh Hinata did not...he didn’t know at _all_ that Kageyama would...he’d never even thought, for one second, that Kageyama might actually _want_ to be kissed for his birthday. It’s...a weird gift request, and Hinata shrugs his shoulder and steps until both of his feet are wedged between Kageyama’s. It’s nice, standing in the shadow of him, leeching his warmth and his breath.

“Nobody,” he says, “I’m just...super clever, and I’m the best gift giver _ever_.”

“It was Sugawara.”

“No,” Hinata says, and then, “why did you _ask_ if you already _knew?_ ”

Kageyama lets out another, slower breath. His hand slips from Hinata’s neck and down his arm, around his waist, and Hinata arcs into the hug with his neck craned back, face upturned so he’s still pressed nose to nose with Kageyama.

“He’s the only one who knows, I guess.”

Hinata’s stomach does a weird little flip-flop. Kageyama wanted this—like, he really, _actually_ wanted to be kissed, by Hinata, for his birthday. It occurs to Hinata then that Sugawara probably never kissed his best friend at all, that it was a big fat lie, a ruse, a trick to get Hinata to kiss Kageyama and  he isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to be mad about that or not.

As it stands he’s not. He is just strangely, obscenely happy about it all.

Kageyama gives him one last squeeze at his back, at their joined hands, and one last lingering kiss to his lips before he pulls away, and a flurry of snow falls into the space between them.

Hinata shivers in the cold and pulls his hand away. Kageyama’s fingers chase him just a little, like he didn’t really want to let go at all, and Hinata bends to scoop up his bike and dust the snow from the seat.

“I gotta go,” he says, and Kageyama nods at him. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Kageyama says. Hinata straddles his bike, braces one foot on the pedal.

“And,” Hinata says. “And I’ll give you another present tomorrow, okay?”

Kageyama blinks, and then he nods, slowly.

“And...and on friday,” he goes on, “and every day after that, so you better not get sick of kissing me, alright?”

Kageyama nods again. And then he takes off his gloves, and Hinata watches him unwind his scarf, pull off his hat, and suddenly his head is warm, and there is soft blue fabric wrapping his throat, staving off the winter chill. Kageyama holds out his gloves, too, and Hinata takes them with a little frown.

“You’ve got further to go,” Kageyama says. He doesn’t meet Hinata’s eyes, but his cheeks are bruising pink with embarrassment. “And I don’t want you to die of cold before you—before you can give me more presents.”

Hinata’s whole body does a funny little _thrum_ of happiness, zinging from his toes and right the way up his spine. It shivers his shoulders, and a smile wobbles over his face. He nods, hard, and the brim of the hat slips a little further down his brow.

“Also,” Kageyama says, leaning between them until they’re face to face, nose to nose, and when he speaks, his lips brush so close to Hinata’s that it tickles him. “I know you forgot to get me anything.”

“I did _not_. I got you the best present _ever_ —”

“—after Suga told you to—”

“—that,” Hinata says, puffing out his chest, “is not important.”

Kageyama’s lips curl, just a little, right at the corners, and it’s a smile, it is, but it’s nothing like the scary ones Hinata is used to. It lights up the big bright blue of his eyes, and there’s snowflakes sitting in his hair, on his lashes, melting on the hot skin of his cheeks, and Hinata kisses him again, just once. Just because he looks good. Just because he can.

“I have to go,” he says again. Kageyama nods, and steps back, gathering up his present bags and his school bag and waving a pale, gloveless hand before turning for the road home.

Hinata turns, too, but then a thought comes to mind, and he stops. Sugawara’s voice echoes something cryptic in his head, creeping up behind the big, fuzzy ball of happy that has replaced all the bad inside his stomach and inside his brain.

Hinata stops again, and turns, shouting out through the snow.

“Kageyama!”

Kageyama turns to look over his shoulder. He doesn’t shout back, but he’s close enough still that Hinata can see the quirk of his brow and the questioning tip of his head.

“What did Tanaka get you for your birthday?”

Kageyama turns away quickly, and he doesn’t reply, not at all, just hurries on down the road and disappears into the maze of cosy houses.

He turned fast, Hinata thinks as he starts the long journey over the mountain, but not so fast that Hinata missed the big, red burn glowing neon-bright over his face.

It doesn’t matter that he didn’t tell him today. Hinata will just ask again tomorrow, and the next day, and every day from now on until Kageyama finally tells him.

**Author's Note:**

> Smell that? Smells like mindless self indulgent fluff. 
> 
> Thank you for any comments/likes/kudos etc, and as always come see me on my tumblr @ someone-stole-my-shoes OR on my newly made Twitter @ someone_stolemy, I am...literally always there to talk about kagehina tbh


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